Isaac had chosen his point of entry weeks earlier, after studying aerial photographs of the entire perimeter. On the rear left corner of the museum grounds nestled a grove of thick oak trees near the building. He passed by the clump of trees, stepped off the sidewalk, and disappeared into the shadows. From there, he scaled a fifty-foot oak tree like a cat. In less than thirty seconds he sat comfortably in the highest branches.
Isaac pressed the briefcase against a branch and rolled the combination dial. A dull thud shook the tree as metal anchors jutted from the case and attached to the limb. The lid flipped open, swung down, and created a small work table.
He stripped off his jacket and white button-down dress shirt to reveal a long-sleeved black tee. Pulling a mask over his head, Isaac completed the ensemble with a pair of black gloves. Undetectable from below, he hid in the shadows of the tree.
With deft hands Isaac removed a small compound bow from the case and adjusted its pieces until fully assembled.
Darkness fought for dominance with the floodlights that lit up the building at regular intervals. Yet Isaac was not worried about the ground floor. His eyes were focused on the roof and the security camera less than thirty feet from his location. It rotated slowly, anchored in place to the northeast corner. The old oak tree where he perched hovered over the building by a good ten feet, and from his vantage point he could look down on the security camera.
Only two items remained in the briefcase: a black tool belt containing mechanical equipment and a grappling hook with thirty feet of climbing rope. He strapped the belt to his waist and set the hook in the compound bow.
Isaac crawled along the branch, inching as close to the building as he could without bending the tree limb. He straddled the branch with his knees, raised the bow, and aimed not at the stone ledge jutting out from the museum's roof, but farther in at a row of atrium windows. Steadying himself on the branch, he took a deep breath, placed the crosshairs on his target, and pulled the trigger.
Thwap. The grappling hook launched through the air. No sooner had Isaac pulled the trigger than he knew he had missed the target. Profanity spit from his lips. The grappling hook landed with a metallic clang, not on the ridge atop the atrium windows, but on the main roof line, just two feet above the security camera.
If he were to cross hand over hand as he intended, he would dangle in full view of the camera. Isaac exhaled through clenched teeth, considering his only viable option: a tightrope walk across thirty feet of open air.
Abby placed a hand on Alex's arm as he escorted her up the front steps of the Smithsonian and into the Rotunda. In the hours since she had left work, her staff had transformed the space. Thirty-five tables covered with white tablecloths were scattered beneath the domed ceiling, each surrounded by ten chairs draped in alternating red and gold slipcovers. In the center of each table sat a floral arrangement of palm frond and Indian paintbrush. Paper lanterns hung from the balconies and glowed with yellow light. The lighting firm hired by the Smithsonian had placed dozens of low-wattage floodlights throughout the Rotunda, creating a subtle display of shadow and light, giving the ornate gothic room the appearance of a dimly lit cave. It was not hard to imagine that a jewel such as the Hope Diamond could be found in these surroundings. And in the middle of the room stood the massive African elephant, appearing as though he waited at the beck and call of an Indian sultan.
Abby took in the enormity of the room, delighted with her handiwork.
Alex pulled her to his side and whispered, “You did this?”
She nodded, unable to hide her smile.
“Beautiful,” he whispered. His lips brushed her ear. Abby could not decide whether he referred to the room or to her. Either way, she didn't mind.
The prestigious guests had been chosen carefully by Abby and other museum staffers. Deep pockets and a profound interest in the arts were the initial prerequisites, and the selection winnowed from there. By the time the guest list was established, this was the hottest ticket in town.
Alex and Abby steered clear of the meandering guests in their search for Dow and DeDe. They found them seated at a table on the outer perimeter of the room. Dow wore a trim tuxedo, and DeDe, always the renegade, rejected the typical black evening gown in favor of red.
“You look fantastic.” Abby admired the upswept hair and trim figure of her friend.
“You know what they say,” DeDe said with a wink. “The girl with the red dress gets all the attention.”
Dow grinned. “Not tonight, my dear, lovely though you are. I'm quite certain that our Abby will be the belle of the ball.” He leaned in and kissed Abby's cheek. “Thank you for the invitation by the way.”
DeDe placed her hands on Abby's bare shoulders. “You are breathtaking.”
Dow turned to Alex. “So this must be the man I've been hearing so much about?”
“Alex,” he said, grabbing Dow's hand firmly.
“Dow. And this is my wife, DeDe.”
“Very pleased to meet you.”
“Likewise,” said Dow.
DeDe pulled a black jewelry case from her purse and handed it to Abby. “Are these what you've been waiting for?” She caught Abby's glance and slid the box into her outstretched hand.
Abby took the case and flipped it open. Inside was a pair of diamond stud earrings, easily two carats each. She breathed a sigh of relief as she slid the studs into her ears. “Thank you, DeDe.”
DeDe grabbed Abby's hand; emotion brimmed in her dark brown eyes. “I didn't think you could be any more lovely,” she whispered.
Abby returned DeDe's smile, awash in gratitude. Her fist remained clenched even when DeDe let go.
“You better get going, dear,” Dow prodded.
“Ah, yes,” Abby said, her nerves on edge. “So it begins.”
Dow eyed her with special tenderness. “Indeed.”
Abby turned to Alex with a nervous smile. “Shall we?”
“My pleasure.” He offered Abby his arm, and they moved toward the bank of elevators where Daniel Wallace paced in agitation.
As they left the Rotunda, Abby looked over her shoulder and caught Dow's attention. He nodded at her, lips tightened in a grim line. “You can do this,” he mouthed.
Daniel met them in front of the elevators, his face pinched and his nerves raw. “Abby,” he said with a stiff nod.
“Daniel, this is Alex Weld,” she said.
Daniel offered a begrudging handshake, herded them into the elevator, and pushed the button for the second floor. Silence filled the space between them as they rose, broken only by a soft ping when the doors opened moments later.
Indirect light fell in pools along the carrara marble floors that lined the Janet Annenberg Hooker Hall of Gems. Abby gathered her courage and let Daniel lead them toward the Harry Winston Gallery and the display that housed the Hope Diamond. One fist was still clenched into a ball, and her lips were drawn tight as she focused on the task ahead.
Dr. Peter Trent stood beside the case, deep in conversation with Henry Blackman and the security team from Diebold. Daniel Wallace joined his crew and waited, ready to assist.
Upon Abby's entrance a hush settled over the room. Her face flushed a deep red, uncomfortable with the attention.
“You are beautiful,” Alex whispered in her ear, giving her arm a reassuring squeeze. “That's why they're staring.”
“Dr. Mitchell, you look ravishing tonight,” Henry Blackman said, a hawkish grin spread across his face.
Alex slid an arm around her waist and pulled her to his side. The wordless gesture was all Blackman needed to understand that Abby was accompanied.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Daniel pressed a finger to his earpiece and listened. “The guests are all seated,” he said. “We need to get this process started. It will take a few moments.”
Dr. Trent turned toward Henry Blackman. “I believe you can take it from here?”
“We can,” he said.
Abby kept her distance from the displa
y case, breathless, as she watched the pedestal turn on its axis. The diamond rotated ninety degrees and stopped, light glittering from its faceted surface. Sixty seconds later it turned another ninety degrees and paused again. This process repeated without interruption, 480 times every day.
Daniel stood to the side, feet spread and hands clasped behind his back. “Mr. Blackman, I have confirmed that your people are in the security terminus.”
“Very well.” He spoke into his headset “This is Henry Blackman. Let's begin the disarming sequence.”
“Affirmative,” came the reply.
Henry approached the case. “It will take a few seconds.”
All eyes rested on the heavy marble and wood display. Deep within the base a slight metallic click sounded.
Abby's heart pounded as she waited through the countdown. After sixty seconds, the diamond remained still.
“Cut the alarm,” Blackman ordered.
“Alarm disabled,” crackled the voice from the security terminus.
“Open the case.”
The room hushed as the hum of motors echoed through the room. One panel of the three-inch thick glass slid down into the display case. It took a full two minutes to descend, the security sensors deep within pacing the drop carefully.
“Everyone stay back,” Blackman ordered. “There are still numerous security measures that must be disarmed.”
Inside the case a series of clicks resounded in conjunction with the whining motor. “Please enter the security codes,” Blackman ordered his assistant in the console.
There was a slight pause and then came the reply, “Codes entered.”
Blackman took a deep breath, blinking as drops of sweat rolled into his eyes. “Disable the pressure sensor.”
After a short pause came the reply, “Pressure sensor disabled.”
Blackman motioned Abby forward, a triumphant look on his face. “Dr. Mitchell, I believe you get the honors.”
Paralyzed, she gazed at the case just a few feet away.
“Are you all right, Abby?” Dr. Trent asked.
“Yes,” she said. Her breath caught in her throat. “It isn't every day a girl takes the Hope Diamond out of its case.”
Abby lifted the hem of her dress and moved toward the circular platform where the case rested. She looked over her shoulder, hesitant.
Dr. Trent nodded slightly, giving her permission, and Abby reached into the case. Her fingers stopped, a mere two inches from the diamond, and hovered. She took a deep breath and lifted it from the velvet podium with a trembling hand. The weight of the necklace was surprising—not just the Hope Diamond itself, but the setting and diamond-studded platinum chain as well. She stepped from the display, necklace in hand, waiting for something to happen. But the case simply sat open like a gaping mouth.
All eyes focused on the diamond in her hand. She lifted it slightly and asked, “Shall I put it on?”
A series of nods affirmed her.
Abby unfastened the clasp and placed the jewel against her neck, arms behind her head, attempting to fasten it. Her fingers fumbled with the clasp, and she frowned, trying to get it in place.
“Would you like me to help?” Alex asked.
Daniel Wallace clamped a large, heavy hand on Alex's shoulder. “Please don't. The only person with permission to touch the stone is Dr. Mitchell.”
“Of course,” Alex mumbled, stepping back. “I was just trying to help.”
“I think I've got it, gentlemen.” Abby released the clasp and let the diamond rest against her neck. She dropped her hands to her side and straightened her shoulders for full effect.
The necklace glinted in the light, complimented by her bare shoulders and DeDe's diamond earrings.
“Are we ready then?” Abby asked, regaining composure.
Daniel Wallace radioed to his security team downstairs. “Affirmative.”
“After you,” Abby said, waiting for Daniel to lead the way back downstairs.
Most of the Smithsonian lay in shadow, all attention diverted to the main entrance. The marble steps hedged by massive stone pillars were awash with lights and activity. The remainder of the building, particularly the back wall that Isaac Weld ascended like a spider, lay still and dormant. He climbed the façade, squirming through the shadows, imperceptible to those below.
Isaac did not look at the ground as he slipped over the edge of the rooftop. The Rotunda loomed before him, light emanating from the transom windows. He peered through the glass panes, looking four stories down to the gathering below. The guests were seated, enjoying a meal of Beef Wellington and French wine.
The grin on his face spread to the crow's feet around his eyes. Isaac squatted and checked his watch. Right on time.
He spun away and made his way toward the maintenance entrance on the roof that serviced the HVAC components.
Isaac pulled a small magnetic device from the tool belt at his waist and stuck it next to the keypad beside the door. The screen shed blue light, and he pressed a series of buttons on the keypad. After a couple of moments a deep whine emanated from the box, and Isaac picked the lock. He slipped inside and closed the door tightly behind him.
The purpose of the small black box was not to open the door; he could have done that easily on his own. It was to make sure that security was unaware the door had been opened at all.
With each step that Abby took, the burden around her neck grew heavier. The entourage of security personnel and museum staff was unnerving, and Abby held onto Alex's arm, seeking reassurance.
“You'll do just fine. Don't worry,” Alex whispered.
Abby tried to take a deep breath, but the air caught in her throat.
Alex lifted her chin. “I'm here, okay? I'm not going anywhere.”
She nodded, forcing herself to exhale.
Daniel held the elevator door for Abby and spoke into his headset. “We're at the elevators. Begin the introduction.”
As Abby hung in the balance between the exhibition hall and the ground floor, she found her courage. All the details of her presentation came rushing back to her, long since memorized, setting themselves into a familiar place in her mind.
The audience had their backs turned as they watched a short film on the massive screen erected just for this event. Abby and her escorts slipped by on the edge of the room. They came to a stop before a set of risers leading to the stage and waited.
Peter Trent jogged up the steps and took his place behind the podium. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said as soon as the video wound to a close. “Thank you for coming tonight. It is a privilege to have you here for such an important event. This evening we welcome Dr. Abigail Mitchell as she presents the captivating story of our most renowned exhibit, the Hope Diamond. Dr. Mitchell received her masters in art history from Boston College and her doctorate from Cambridge University. She has traveled and written extensively on the Hope Diamond for the last ten years. Won't you please give a warm welcome to Dr. Abigail Mitchell.”
An audible gasp traveled like a wave around the room as all eyes settled on her for the first time. Abby ascended the steps, grasping Alex's arm with one hand, and the hem of her dress with the other. Once on the stage, she graced Alex with a smile and nodded. He released her arm and took a seat at their table, right before the stage.
Whispers flitted throughout the room as she approached the podium, and guests wondered out loud if they were indeed seeing the Hope Diamond around her neck.
Abby straightened her shoulders to better display the diamond and leaned into the podium. “I know what you're thinking,” she said, meeting as many glances as possible. “And this little trinket around my neck is not one of the eighty-dollar fakes you can buy in the gift shop down the hall.” She smiled, relishing the moment. “Ladies and gentlemen, you are looking at the one and only Hope Diamond. As we begin this evening I think it's important that we take a moment to consider how a jewel that bears the name Hope can cause such despair. We all know about a French jewel merchant na
med Jean-Baptiste Tavernier and how he bought the diamond in sixteenth-century India. We know about King Louis XVI and how he lost his head to a guillotine during the French Revolution. Most people seated in this room are aware that Evalyn Walsh McLean graced the society pages in Washington, D.C., many times while wearing the Hope Diamond. You know those things so I won't bore you by repeating the story.”
Abby scanned the crowd, looking for a familiar face. She found Alex seated a few feet away, his gaze transfixed on her. “What I will share with you tonight are the things you don't know, the hidden secrets of this jewel around my neck. We will see that the diamond does not treat kindly those who take it by force.”
The ventilation system that serviced the Smithsonian's Museum of Natural History was a tangled mass of ductwork, intricately woven throughout the building. Isaac Weld, consulting the schematic images on his iPhone, crawled through the maze of aluminum. At regular intervals he stopped, studied the plans, and either continued forward or veered off in a new direction.
On his right leg was strapped an emergency light stick that shed a pale green glow in the ductwork. Not only did it light his way forward, but the hole he punctured in the casing allowed the green phosphorous liquid to leak out; it would illuminate his way back. In a matter of hours, the gel would fade, leaving nothing but a greasy smear behind.
He rounded a particularly tight corner and heard the muted sounds of applause. Before him lay a thirty-foot stretch of ductwork and then a three-foot-square metal grate. Isaac inched forward and looked down on the festivities below. Abby leaned against the podium, the Hope Diamond hanging around her neck.
He lifted his watch and checked the time. The pacing in Abby's voice and her point in the narrative indicated that she was near the midpoint of her presentation.
Isaac pulled out a small black box, roughly the size of a computer battery, from his work belt and laid it before him. Beneath the lid was a single green button.
As with all venues in the Smithsonian, the Rotunda was armed with a series of security cameras, three per level on each of the three levels—nine cameras in all to disable. The familiar rush of adrenaline hit Isaac's bloodstream, and his heart pounded. The almost electric rush coursed through his veins. He pulled ten penlights from his belt and arranged all but one in a tripod. At the push of a button, each would send a beam of ultraviolet light directly into the path of the security cameras, reducing them to white screens.
Eye of the God Page 17
